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purplealmonds · 1 year ago

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Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹

(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired) ⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.

👁️Overview

Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.

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🔎Scope

Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!

Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.

While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!

The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.

To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function.

The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers.

Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file.

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Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!

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🗳️3D Layout

As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.

And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!

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🎬Production-Based Set Dressing

In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions.

🦊Kusuriuri

It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?

🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)

Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.

Salt Jar

Candlestick

Rat Trap

🦋Mononoke (2007)

The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.

Medicine Box

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Mirror

Ring

Geta Sandal

Necklace

Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)

Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)

Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)

Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)

Genjiko Blocks (Nue)

Train Ticket (Bake Neko)

Lantern (Anime OP)

Butterflies (Anime EP)

☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)

Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.

Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices!

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Comb

Movie Poster

Butterfly (Custom design)

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🪭Official Merchandise

Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.

🎊15th Anniversary

Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO

Whiskey Glass & Box

📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi

Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)

Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)

📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa

Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2

Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel

Mononoke Vol. 1-10

🎭Butai Mononoke

Bakeneko Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees

Zashikiwarashi Manegi

💿Physical Media

Official OST CD

DVD Box Set

Yokai Pattern Fabric

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Common Collab Merchandise

This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.

Amnibus

Wall Scrolls

Tenugui Fabric

Shot Glasses

Minoyaki Bean Plates

ANIGA-TER

Stickers

Can Badges

Canvas Prints

Anique

Diorama Acrylic Stand

Acrylic Blocks

Challenge Kuji

Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks

eeo Store Online

Folding Fan

Keychains

Can Badges

gj character G

Cushion

Acrylic Charms

Neo Gate

Satchels

Mini Badges

Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda

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High-End Collab Merchandise

Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.

gj character G

Exorcism Sword Ring

Goodsmile

Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine

Folding Screen

Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush

Tote Bag

Kaya

Umbrella

Tenbin Kanzashi

Tabi Socks

Dress

Kotobukiya

Figurine

Mayla

Pump Heels

Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins

Tenbin Earrings

Hyper Earrings

Noitamina Apparel

Perfume

Tenbin Necklace

Folding Fan

Super Groupies

Purse

Wallet

Watch

Tsumuji Design

Exorcism Sword Necklace

Ofuda Bracelet

Useless Use Lab

Fragrance Set

Air Purifier

Three-Sided Mirror

#mononoke 2007 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke fanart #medicine seller #kusuriuri #モノノ怪 #mononoke anime #薬売り #mononoke #fan art #purplealmonds #2024

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coinbasetradingguide · 9 months ago

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princeofcloudcity · 1 month ago

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CALLING ALL FANDOM LOVERS! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!

✨🚨 KOSA has been reintroduced to the House! 🚨✨

The following text is from StopKosa.com:

KOSA uses two methods to “protect” kids, and both of them are awful.

First, KOSA would allow the government to pressure social media platforms to erase content that could be deemed “inappropriate” for minors. The problem is: there is no consensus on what is inappropriate for minors. All across the country we are seeing how lawmakers are attacking young people’s access to gender affirming healthcare, sex education, birth control, and abortion. Online communities and resources that queer and trans youth depend on as lifelines should not be subject to the whims of the most rightwing extremist powers and we shouldn’t give them another tool to harm marginalized communities.

Second, KOSA would ramp up the online surveillance of all internet users by expanding the use of age verification and parental monitoring tools. Not only are these tools needlessly invasive, they’re a massive safety risk for young people who could be trying to escape domestic violence and abuse.

As LGBTQ and reproductive rights groups have said for months, the fundamental problem with KOSA is that its “duty of care” covers content specific aspects of content recommendation systems, and the new changes fail to address that. In fact, personalized recommendation systems are explicitly listed under the definition of a design feature covered by the duty of care in the new version. This means that a future Federal Trade Commission (FTC) could still use KOSA to pressure platforms into automated filtering of important, but controversial topics like LGBTQ issues and abortion, by claiming that algorithmically recommending such content “causes” mental health outcomes that are covered by the duty of care like anxiety and depression. Bans on inclusive books, abortion, and gender affirming healthcare have been passed on exactly that kind of rhetoric in many states recently. And we know that already existing content filtering systems impact content from marginalized creators exponentially more, resulting in discrimination and censorship.

Dozens of LGBTQ+ and civil rights groups agree that KOSA is dangerous and updates to the bill haven’t addressed the core concerns advocates have about its impact on already often censored content and resources.

If you believe in a free and open internet, send a message to your lawmakers right now and tell them to reject KOSA!

#stop kosa #kosa #anti censorship #fandom #anime

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justafewberries · 4 months ago

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Themes of Implicit Submission in The Hunger Games (Book One)

I’ve just finished re-reading The Hunger Games (book one) and there are a few themes that I expect SOTR will develop based on Hume’s implicit submission theory. Specifically, these are the main six tactics I believe the Capitol uses to thwart another rebellion present in the first book alone:

Societal Pressure:

District 12 has a “keep your head down” culture. Any talks of rebellion are frowned upon. Any anti-government statements will cause social repercussions. It’s not just Katniss rolling her eyes at Gale in the woods, it’s how she has been groomed by the culture to keep quiet about the issues pervading life in the district:

“When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually, I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob.… Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?” (p.6)

All of this proceeds the statement:

“Even here, in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.” (p. 5)

Under this point, it is also telling that during the reaping ceremony, Katniss says the “boldest form of dissent [the audience] can manage,” is silence. Not outrage, not yelling, not like district 11, but silence (p. 24).

2. Division between Classes

The Capitol has created conflict within the districts to draw hatred to a local target. In the case of the first book, Gale remarks tesserae is a tactic to keep them divided.

“Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine.” (p. 14)

Interestingly, tesserae is already known as the “courtesy of the capitol” as stamped on Haymitch’s shorts in SOTR. The Capitol markets tesserae as something it does out of goodness. It attempts to make itself seem well-intentioned via the distribution of necessary goods. It’s their courtesy, after all.

This point also includes the division between the districts. In the games, Katniss remarks how allying with the careers is essentially traitorous.

“No one from District 12 would think of doing such a thing! Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant, better fed, but only because they’re the Capitol’s lapdogs.” (p. 162)

By treating certain districts better, the Capitol promotes distrust between the districts, dampening potential unionization with planted hatred. By choosing favorite children, the parent that is the Capitol forces the districts to fight.

3. Weaponized Language

The name of the Treaty of Treason, the treaty that makes the Hunger Games necessary per the law, is definitive of how the districts are forced to see themselves. They are the ones who committed treason by rebelling, and therefore they are guilty. They must repent by sending the children to the games. The permanent treaty, read during every reaping ceremony, enforces the guilt the districts are supposed to feel. In turn, the fact it is a “treaty” means the districts must have agreed to and signed it. Regardless of the circumstances around the signing of the treaty, the capitol then has the ability to wave it over their heads henceforth.

The name itself points a finger and keeps the districts forever at fault.

Furthermore, the fact Katniss is referred to by her district number until and even after she is given something to remember her by (the fire) further dehumanizes the tributes. During the parade, she says the citizens of the capitol have liked her and Peeta enough to "read the program" and learn their names (p. 70).

There are many more examples of villainizing and dehumanizing language in the book, but I have chosen those examples for the sake of brevity.

4. Propagandizing Education

A major theme in many dystopian novels is how the system treats education. In District 12, Katniss tells the reader:

“Besides basic reading and math, most of our instruction is coal-related. Except for the weekly lecture on the history of Panem. It’s mostly a lot of blather about what we owe the Capitol.” (p. 42)

A weekly lecture in a school is quite a lot of time to devote to any one subject. Seeing as how the rest of their curriculum revolves around district-specific content, the weekly lecture must be mandated across all districts, likely leaving the rest up to the discretion of the district itself. The Capitol once again emphasizes how the districts were wrong. It is repeated week after week, and eventually, it becomes ingrained in the social psychology of the district.

5. Hunger and Deprivation of Needs

Continuing from the section about Katniss knows the weekly lecture must be propaganda, saying,

“I know there must be more than they’re telling us, an actual account of what happened during the rebellion. But I don’t spend much time thinking about it. Whatever the truth is, I don’t see how it will help me get food on the table.” (p. 42)

This point coincides with my second point about the division of classes. By keeping the people hungry, they are too busy thinking about the lowest rung on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. They see those who have food, and they are the opposition in front of them, rather than examining the source of the problem. By keeping the people hungry, they are less likely to have the time or ability to even think about a collective uprising.

6. Limiting Flow of Information

The Capitol limits the flow of information between districts. In doing so, the districts are forced to make bridging assumptions about one another. This is revealed through Katniss and Rue’s discussion in the games:

“It’s interesting, hearing about her life. We have so little communication with anyone outside our district. In fact, I wonder if the Gamemakers are blocking out our conversation, because even though the information seems harmless, they don’t want people in different districts to know about one another.” (p. 203)

By keeping them separate, they can turn any district against another. They rely solely on the Capitol for information about other districts, and therefore the Capitol has all of the power.

Interestingly, another division between classes is shown through Peeta’s knowledge about other districts. He knows the different types of bread from the districts, implying the merchant class may have more access to information than those of the seam, leading to further division between classes.

All in all, these are the themes I expect to be addressed in SOTR based on the pretense of implicit submission.

See Catching Fire's themes here

See Mockingjay's themes here

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deeper-ever-deeper · 10 months ago

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are there any particular rigs or other tools used for something like megafauna hunting? Not necessarily combat/taking out a critter that's a danger to the area like the fighter jet dragons, but like, folks are gearing up to go bag a big critter for food/resources. Or would both of those scenarios be similar enough that there's not really any difference between the tools that would be used?

Megafauna hunting is a pretty important job under the Amber sky. Keeping any settlement or trade route safe will require regular tending by rangers.

Creatures can get quite large and extremely aggressive. Many also feature explosive healing factors that make them highly resistant to small arms and blades. The average modern combat rifle would struggle against Amber skies megafauna. They are not usually hunted for food given the effort involved.

However, oftentimes its not a question of actually killing the creature. These mega-organisms are often a keystone species that keeps herbivore populations in check. Most of the time, hunters just want to scare them away. The death of a mega-organism can risk ecological collapse.

Hunting rigs tend to be extremely light. They need to be quiet. So rather than focus on bulky armor, they go all in on speed and agility. If the turbo hog can crush a tank in one headbutt, why even bother with armor? A mech cant sneak up on anything.

If you actually need to kill a mega organism, hunting tools tend to be tranquilizer rounds and cutting tools that resemble oversized butchery implements. It's not uncommon for a town to retrofit a combine harvester, or a rototiller, into an absolutely fuck-off huge turkey carver.

You hunt in groups. Tire it out, trap it if you can, and cut off it's head before it heals.

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starrygazers · 5 months ago

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cross my heart (hope to die)

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ haiii :3 I only write like once a year but that won't stop me from yearning for these new characters. I love Amphoreus because I was a Greek myth nerd growing up and this new update tickles me in aaaall the right ways.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : angst, established relationship, mentions of character death

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mydeimos, the Crown Prince, has no fears. He tossed away his humanity when he embraced immortality, the tool that he needed to trek on this god-slaying journey. There was no room for fear, not when he had to fight the Titan of Violence. A man such as this was not capable of human emotions; or so he thought.

"So," you hum in a sing-song tone, draping your arms around Mydei's shoulders. "When will you take me to that new restaurant in Marmoreal Market?"

Mydei huffs, but makes no effort to peel your touch off of him. He turns around to meet your eyes; you're so close to him. If it were any other person, they would have faced the wrath of the Undying Lion.

You detect no change in his expression, so you start pouting. "Mydei! You promised me you would."

Mydei shrugs. "Did I?"

You roll your eyes, finally letting go of him and sitting on the empty spot next to him. "Dying doesn't exempt you from the promises you make, you know?"

The Prince can't help but crack a smile at this; you're the only person that he can comfortably joke about his immortality with. With you, it doesn't seem like the big deal everyone makes it out to be. Not the heroic Chrysos Heir trait that Phainon envies him for, or the source of worry for Aglaea and Tribbie. It's just another part of him that you've accepted.

Because you accept all of him.

You cross your arms and look away from him, mumbling about how the restaurant's been open for a month and it's not new anymore so there won't be as many people and why do you always have to go on such long expeditions, but Mydei shushes you by taking a strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

A whisper of apology.

"It's okay," you mumble, extending your pinky. "Just promise again, for this life."

"I'll make a thousand promises if that's what you want," he says, and it comes out rough, like he's doing it to get you off his back. But you know better, you know him better.

He raises his own pinky finger to entwine it with yours. "How does the saying go again?"

"You're so forgetful," you laugh, and it's the most melodious tune he knows.

"Cross my heart..."

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. He's content with this destiny, because he knows he is not given the privilege to choose. He must lay down his god for the glory of what little humanity he has left within him. He will trade a thousand lives for peace, and he will enter a losing battle with only his faith in the infinite lives that he has.

Perhaps this is what made him forget how flimsy a life really is.

In his usual boredom, Phainon once riddled him. "How heavy do you think the world really is? Like, a thousand Dromas?"

Mydei's response, in typical fashion, was to huff and call Phainon's musings irrelevant. But now, he thinks he can answer that question.

The world is really light in his arms. The world is pale, cold, and losing a lot of blood.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you manage to say before your last breath. Your voice is hoarse, but Mydei would beg Oronyx to loop it forever because he still thinks your voice is his lullaby.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He promised to take you to that restaurant, and many more. He vowed to bring peace to this world to one day crown you as his queen.

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. But this was worse than death. For you, he would trade it all; his status as Crown Prince, his pride as the Undying Lion, his immortality.

A thousand life for yours.

"... and hope to die."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

#imagine blog #honkai star rail #hsr #mydei #mydeimos #mydei hsr #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #xreader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mydeimos x reader #amphoreus #honkai star rail mydei #☆—starrygazers

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asumofwords · 4 months ago

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Watercress - Chapter 2

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Descriptions of injuries, blood and broken bones, stitches. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Firstly I want to thank you all for your patience on this series, I had some insane writers block but I think I'm back! I also want to thank you for all your kindness with the first chapter and your excitement, I feel terrible for not being able to get this out sooner but hopefully it's worth the wait. I'm thinking this miniseries will be about 10 chapters long! It's a bit of a hefty chapter because I couldn't help myself. I did way too much medieval medicine research, Oops! Again, thank you all for your kindness and patience, I really love writing for you all. Enjoy <3

The earth moved beneath her, pines and dirt sliding out from under her feet as she tugged with all her might. Pulling and dragging, the remnants of her net hooked beneath the mans armpits. His unconscious body was limp and heavy as he was moved along the dirt floor, the sun descending from the sky, darkness beginning to blanket the realm.

She hadn’t had too much of a second thought to bring him with her. At first she had assumed that he would die from being moved in the manner he was, but she couldn’t leave him. Something compelled her to drag him from the trees back to her home.

It was in her nature to heal, it was what the Gods gifted her with. Something that she had only known her whole life, and despite her reservations about him likely dying, and her likely wasting her hard earned and homemade remedies, she couldn’t do it. The Gods would look down upon her if she did. She could feel it.

They wanted her to find him, for what, she did not know. It was like a faint scratching in the back of her head, this urge to do it. She wondered if she had access to the Weirwood tree in the ruins of Harrenhal itself if she could make sense of it all there.

But for now, all she could do was follow her instincts.

Death was no stranger to her. And she hadn't raced back to his side, instead taking languid steps, calm and unrushed. If he had survived this long, he could survive another moment.

And if not, the Gods willed it so.

She found him where she had left him; broken and cold, silver hair matted and bloodied—an insult to what he'd been.

Though he was tall and slender, his mass was dense with muscles from swordsmanship. At times the man would moan softly, his swollen yet sharp features furrowing as the broken leg would catch or bump along rock and root, yet she couldn’t feel sympathy for him, only a dull sense of duty to do what she could. Not to him or his family, but to life—to the Gods.

For years, people of all stations sought her out—Lords, Ladies, and small folk alike. She had lived in solitude, trading medicines and knowledge for coin, goods or food. She was bound to healing, like her mother before her--by choice, or by design she did not know. The forest was her wisdom, her hands were her tools, and her skills were her coin.

With each step backwards, head cast over her shoulder looking to where she would step, she dragged the silver haired man through the forest. Her thighs cramped, her feet ached, and her back protested from the heavy weight, but still she pressed on. By the time she finally reached her home, she let the net slacken lowering the mans torso to lay flat on the earth. Fresh blood leaked from the wounds she could see—mouth, ears and nose alike.

He would be lucky to survive the night.

The door creaked when pushed as she entered, the man left at the threshold. Stretching, she felt her spine crack, an ache steadily creeping further into her muscles.

The fireplace was a steady glow of embers, and the need to light it came first. Kneeling at the hearth, she coaxed the embers to life, feeding them twigs and moss until flames caught before placing some logs atop.

Her stone and wood cottage was simple yet well kept. It was a large open space with shelves lined with jars of dried roots and flowers, metal tins sealed with salves and oils. The fireplace dominated the room, a great iron pot hanging above it. Herbs, flowers and bark strips were hung from the beams of the ceiling to dry, whilst tools and books cluttered the shelves.

There was a sturdy wooden table that bore the marks of time—knives, flames, and countless memories. Memories of old with her mother, her father. Memories of new, meals spent alone, or with those she healed. People sat or laid atop it as she had tended to their wounds or sickness with unwavering care.

Her bed was nestled against the farthest wall, softened with pillows and blankets from a distant trader and furs she had both bought, and prepped herself.

She was by no means poor, her long years of work and keen skills meant that she had steady business and flow of coin. It afforded her luxuries that many had not, though she wasn't materialistic. She had what she needed, and only that.

On top of the table lay the long sword and her basket of fish and foraged items. She moved the basket to a bench and set the sword in the corner by the fireplace before stepping back outside to check on the man.

The Targaryen looked like the Stranger had finally come to call. His skin was paler and mottled with bruises and blood, hair matted and dirty, crusted against his scalp, his leg bent at an unnatural angle.

And yet still, Aemond One-Eye lived.

Pulling him atop the table was no easy task. His long limbs seemed to go anywhere but where she wanted him to, and by the time she was done, she was coated in a light sheen of sweat and smears of fresh blood. The Prince had groaned softly as she jostled him without repentance until he lay flat atop the wood.

With scissors collected by the fire, she began to cut off his leather robes, deciding that it would be easier to take them off this way rather than worrying about preserving his modesty or the well made clothing. The scissors in her hand were sharp, and cut easily through the stitching—tunic and undershirt coming off first. The leather and linen was dropped to floor in a heap of ash and blood, as she scanned his body for notable injury.

Blues and purples bloomed across his ribs on one side, a jagged cut moving up his hipbone to sternum. Coagulated blood and rusty flakes littered his skin as his chest rose and fell shallowly. He could breathe, a good sign, but beneath his swollen flesh, there could be a danger.

Feeling with her fingers along his ribs, she looked for signs of splintering—a pierced lung does little good to a dying man, and despite her years of healing, she dreaded those injuries the most. She probably should have checked for this first before she dragged him along the forest floor and heaved him atop her table, but if she had found it then she would have had to treat him where he was, or risk getting help from someone in a nearby village. And being who he was, she hadn't wanted to risk it.

She felt his cold skin until she reached his lower most ribs. Fingertips felt along his swollen flesh, the bones loosened with raised ridges—broken. An ear to the chest confirmed blood in his lungs, wheezing shallow breaths from trauma, but breaths nonetheless.

Broken ribs, but no pierced lungs. Fortunate.

Next was his head. Silky silver tresses, knotted and dry, passed through her fingers as she felt along his skull where the silver turned red, searching for the wound. A broken skull could mean he never woke again, until he slowly withered away into nothing and became another dead man amongst many. Wetness met her searching, and a gash on his scalp was re-disturbed, fresh blood rising to the surface. She pressed deeper into the wound, his skull did not move nor creak in the way it would if it was broken.

Relief.

As she looked down at the dragon rider, she noted what was needed; Water from the creek to wash the wounds, boiled above the fire and herbs. She wondered momentarily if she had any honey from the last months trader—it filled wounds well enough and assisted in healing.

Her observation continued down to his clothed legs and shoes. The broken leg would need focused care, and with his condition she wished to leave the worst until last. He may wake and become violent, difficult to control, or he may die from the pain of her setting the bone. She wished to work from the minor to the major, cuts and bruising first, then work her way up. An odd way of working, but a way to ensure that he stayed unconscious and pliable, in the rare chance that he did wake.

Mortar and pestle and a jar of dried marigolds was carried over to the table where he lay, placing them in the space beside him. Behind her, her water pales were mostly full, but there was a need for fresh running water, not water that had been stagnant for washing.

It was dark when she left her home, her eyes adjusting to the low light. By the time she got back, her skirts and dress had almost dried, and her home had been warmed from the fire she had stoked. She lit candles for light, and took the pale to the fireplace to boil.

In a jar by the kitchen was a murky oil which shone in the light of candle and flame, its colour a slight yellow. She remembered as a child her mother showing her the pink or sometimes yellow flowers with care—Evening Primrose—and that the oil from the leaves��never the flower— can have pain relief, and help to heal. Together combined with the thick honey that she eventually found by the kitchen, she could seal his wounds together and give him some relief should he wake.

Would they look for him?

Or would they believe like all others that he was dead?

She did not recall seeing any men nor dragons above searching the lands after his fall. No green and gold banners were seen to march through the fishing ports, and no message from the small villages and communities nearby came to warn or reward those of the missing monarch. In fact, not a single Green banner had been seen, only Black. The Green army was defeated.

To everyone but her, he was dead.

Beneath the lid of his single eye, his lashes fluttered and shifted with a faint, weak groan escaping his lips. All else remained unmoving, as if in death, while she continued her work undeterred. She added drops of the oil to the powdered marigold and spoonfuls of honey to the mixture, grinding the pestle into the mortar to mix it all together into a thick paste. The soft, rhythmic sound of stone against stone filled the quiet space.

She washed his head first, hands not in the slightest bit gentle, but precise. The dried blood lifted from the silver locks, and soon it turned a soft pink, water dripping down off of the table and onto the floor below. It would be a lengthy process with the man having such long hair, that she wondered if it would be quicker to cut it all off.

He needn’t a mirror to gaze upon. Hair can regrow; life cannot.

Holding his hair in her hand, she took her scissors beside her and cut through the silver. Several inches of god-like hair was hacked away as easy as his life could have been, the silver strands offering no resistance. If he stood, it would come to his shoulders. She let the locks fall to the floor in a wet heap amongst his clothes before resuming.

One by one, she stitched his wounds, steady and practiced. Her needle had seen hundreds of injuries; this time was no different. Each stitch was precise. Not too tight, not too loose.

Her paste was smeared atop the wound thickly, until the stitches were covered. Then this she had learnt from her mother; fish skin which had been dried a moon before was cut into a strip with her blade atop the wooden table, it was soaked in the hot water, and then placed atop the sticky wound. She flattened it down until it became almost like a plaster, wherein she smeared more salve atop.

She repeated the process to the rest of his wounds, from the cut upon his face, a gash on his arm, to the jagged cut from hip to chest. Some wounds needn’t the needle or thread and so she simply smeared the salve into the cuts or bruises until all injuries had been accounted for.

All that was left now was his mangled leg.

The skin of his shin was swollen and purple, red veins crawled across the flesh like streams, short silver hairs shining in the low light. The break itself was just below the centre of his shin, the bone having moved skin, flesh and bone to the side. The point of the break was visible to the eye, though it did not break the skin. With her fingers she pressed against and around the wound, feeling the bone and swollen flesh, hot to the touch. Perhaps the beginnings of infection.

Standing back, she looked over him. The wounds on his face and head had stopped bleeding and the one upon his side was settling with the fish skin and salve she had made. She had done all that she could, and after this final task she could rest and leave his fate to the Gods for the night.

The hardest part was now.

She positioned two wooden splints at the sides of his leg, securing them with tight cloth strips.

Hands on either side of his shin, she pushed with all her strength the bone back together, feeling the ends grinding against each other. The man groaned loudly, his swollen face scrunching up as his chest rose and fell rapidly. She kept on, no cares for his pain, pushing until she felt the tension give, and a gut turning crunch send a click into her hands.

The man gasped a wheezy moan but did not wake.

It done.

His life was now in the hands of the Gods.

She rose with the sun as she always did, its warm light shining through the open windows. Rising from her bed, she stoked the embers of the fire, placing a small log atop the ashes to let it smoulder.

The man hadn’t moved from where she had placed him the day before, the parlour of his skin still ashen. The wounds she had tended to were sealed by salve or fish skin, and had not bled nor wept through the night, the skin around his wounds pink, but the heat from them didn’t indicate dangerous infection.

He had survived the night, and would hopefully another.

There was an abrupt knock upon the hollow door of the cottage. She stood in the kitchen looking down at the silver haired man atop her table, and felt a small seed of dread in her gut.

Had someone seen her? Dragging the body of the man through the woods to her cottage?

Or perhaps they had seen her dragging the long sword through the forest ground before him?

Another knock.

She stepped to the door, inhaling deeply.

“Yes?” she whispered through the crack, eyes flicking to the unconscious man. If he woke, if he made a sound—

“You the healer?”

A gruff voice. A man.

She hesitated, then, “Aye.”

“I have coin.”

No urgency. No proclamation of Knighthood or King’s Guard.

She unlatched the door, opening it just a sliver. The man outside was older, broad-shouldered, with deep lines of worry carved into his face. He did not try to peer inside, and only met her gaze.

“My daughter. She’s sick.” His voice wavered, brows furrowed. He seemed out of breath.

“What ails her?” The woman asked, noting the girl was clearly to unwell to travel to her as she was not with the father.

He huffed, “Well that’s why I came to you, isn’t it? I’m not a bloody Maester.”

Ah. The telltale irritation that most people who worried for the sick had. It didn't bother her anymore as it once had.

“Fever?”

"Aye."

“Cough?”

He nodded.

“Blood?”

“No.” His head shook violently.

“Where is she?”

He shifted, revealing a man worn thin by sleepless nights. His boots, though well-made, were scuffed from wear. His clothes, fine but unkempt. A father, desperate. He was taller than her by a foot, but had a thick build to him. If she were to guess he would be a tradesman of some sort. Perhaps a fisherman.

“Not far, I’m in the fishing village just over to the east.” A large calloused finger lifted and pointed east of the water where her cottage resided.

She hummed, “How far?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know where it was, it was more that she didn’t know where he was. His dwelling could be on the outskirts of the village like hers or dead in its centre.

“About an hours walk.” His posture indicated growing fear and impatience.

She hummed again, that would mean she would likely be gone for 3-4 hours then, depending on the state of the girl.

“Horse?”

“Foot.” He confessed with a small inkling of shame.

She nodded. Most people she dealt with didn’t own horses, nor the coin to pay her, but if they could, she would take what they could offer. No person was turned away, and trade was often a payment. Furs, blankets, knives, clothing; whatever the person could offer was taken without reluctance.

Before he could speak again she turned around and went back inside closing the door behind her. The basket she had used for foraging and fishing was filled with tinctures and herbs, oils and creams. She was sure it was likely another case of the fever that seemed to roll around in the colder months, but she liked to be prepared otherwise.

The journey to the man’s home and village was swifter than she had expected, but quiet. He didn’t speak unless to direct them or ask if she could help his sick child.

As they traveled, his questioning became increasingly impulsive, circling back to the same concerns. She answered him patiently at first, but when he repeated himself a fourth time, she chose silence instead.

As they neared the village, its presence became unmistakable. Foot-worn paths grew more defined, and scattered huts at the outskirts became more frequent, until they stood only a stone’s throw apart. A well-worn cobblestone road split the town through its centre, leading toward the river which connected to the Gods Eye. A sturdy yet timeworn dock penetrated the water, small fishing boats littering the shore.

The scent of fish clung thickly in the air, though the villagers had long since grown used to it. At the docks, merchants bartered with customers over the day’s catch, while others tended to small boats or repaired fishing nets. She felt the weight of fleeting glances as she followed the man through the town, basket in hand. Some villagers recognised her, others merely noted her presence before returning to their tasks. The older ones, she knew, had once sought out her mother for guidance, just as they now came to her instead.

The man’s pace quickened as they entered the heart of the village. Upon reaching his home, a modest wooden dwelling, he pushed the door open with little effort, its hinges well oiled.

Warmth greeted them at once. A fire blazed inside, casting flickering light across the walls. He strode straight to a bed tucked against the far side of the room, where a small figure lay curled beneath thick furs.

The healer took a moment to scan the space. A simple table and three chairs sat near the hearth, where food would be prepared and eaten. Strips of dried fish hung from the rafters alongside a large net to dry. The air held a faint briny scent, but she hardly noticed it after a few breaths. The fireplace, larger than expected, was built from blackened stones perhaps darkened by soot, scavenged from an old ruin nearby.

The man spoke down to the poorly child, breaking her observation, “I’ve brought the healer for you. She’s going to make you better.” His large hand pushed back the sweaty darkened hair upon a paled face.

The girl was comely but bore the clear signs of illness. Shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and her complexion had taken on a gray pallor. A fine sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and though her damp curls were tangled, they held the promise of beauty when well-tended.

She placed her basket beside the bed and moved the worried father out of the way, feeling his eyes watching her as she observed the girl. Her hand brushed against her forehead, the skin hot and clammy . Despite the plentiful furs and raging fire, she shivered slightly.

“Are you in pain?” The woman asked softly.

The child’s dark eyes, so like her father’s, fluttered open with great effort.

“No.” Her voice was thin, barely more than a breath. “M’cold.”

The woman hummed, pulling the furs down from the girl who whined softly in protest, the man behind her shifted.

“I’m looking for sores.” She told them both, but mostly for the benefit of the father who seemed to moved closer to his daughter as an action of protection.

The chemise that the girl wore was old and worn and almost soaked through with sweat. She carefully looked at the girls arms, neck and legs, pulled the chemise up to look at where her glands lay beneath her skin. She thankfully could see no sores.

She nodded to herself and hummed again, opening the girls mouth to look inside her throat. With the help of the fire she was able to see that the back looked red and sore.

“How old is she?” The healer asked, eyes not moving from the girl.

“Ten.”

“Has she had Redspots before?” She asked, a common and non-fatal sickness to children.

“Aye, when she was three.” The father replied.

Immediately she was sure of what ailed the girl. The father moved again and spoke, concern lacing his voice, “What is it?”

“A simple fever.” She retrieved a cloth from her basket and dipped it into a jar of tincture, the rag absorbing the golden-hued oil.

“Shivers?” Dread in his voice.

“No.” She had to hold back an endearing smile as she began to wipe the oiled cloth on the girls face, neck, arms and legs, “Shivers takes quickly. And she is not shaking.”

The man shifted nervously beside her, leaning over her to watch as she treated his daughter, “There have been men.” He breathed quickly, a new fear creeping into his voice, “-Sick. I’m surprised you haven’t been called to town sooner.”

She didn’t stop as she worked, not once lifting her head as she smoothed the hair from the girls face back, “Everyone gets sick. No one is immune to illness.”

“No.” The man said with a more fearful tone, “It’s different, this one. I’ve never seen anything like it. Two men came back and dropped dead. Not even the grey have seen it.”

This peaked her interest, “Two?”

“Aye.”

She frowned, “Shivers most likely.”

“No." He insisted, and this insistence made her heart beat faster, "These men were hale and healthy. Hardiest men I’ve ever seen or known. Fishermen like most of us. And they died. Dropped like flies. Ain't no one seen anything like it before.”

She let herself look at the man, his nervousness made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, “Fevers are not uncommon during winter.”

He began to shake his head to argue again but she interrupted him, “When did these men die?”

His eyes looked away as he thought, “Six or seven days past now.”

“And has anyone else grown ill?”

The man thought about it, “No. None but my Ceryce.” His eyes dropped to his daughter.

“Does she fair as they did?”

"No." He shook his head, more to convince himself than the healer, “They were red in the face—swollen, mad. Raving about things, seein' things that weren’t there. Couldn't understand a thing they was saying." His eyes looked to his daughter, "But she’s pale, tired. No visions.”

The woman exhaled, “Then there is nothing to fear.” Even so, unease curled in her gut.

“Is s-“

“-Apply this,” she handed over the small jar of oily substance to him, “upon her skin twice a day. Once at dawn, once at dusk. Make her drink,” she looked around, “have you ale?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Make sure she drinks.” Fingers reached into her basket again as she looked for a small cloth bag. Once found she lifted it and opened, showing the man its contents, “Make her tea, three times a day. When her fever begins to break, make a stronger dose.”

Inside the sack were seeds, “What is it?” He asked, uncertainty in his voice.

“Coriander for the fever.” She stood, the bed shifting.

The girl groaned quietly before her eyes fluttered open again to look up at her, “Am I going to die?”

The woman’s heart clenched painfully. In truth, she did not know. Some fevers stole their victims away; others burned through in a day. But the girl was young, and for now, the Stranger did not linger at her door.

Pulling the furs back up on the young girl, she gave her a small reassuring smile, “No. Your da will make you better.”

She handed the man the oiled cloth, her small roughened hand passing over his. He looked down at her gratefully and smiled in a way that most people did after she treated them.

With relief.

With thanks.

With worry.

“How much coin?”

The woman thought about it, instead remembering what she had spotted when she first walked inside the home.

“No coin.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, a refusal on the tip of his tongue.

“-But,” she continued, “I'm in need of a new net. I’ll take the one you have hung instead of coin.”

“A net?” His brows furrowed, he had such an expressive face.

A nod.

She knew it was a much cheaper deal than he had anticipated. But he wasn’t going to argue. He nodded with vigour and moved to the wall where it hung and handed it to her, and with a second thought, pulled down 3 dried fish for her, tied together with string. She nodded in thanks and placed it inside of her basket.

“Thank you.” He gave her a sad smile, “ Fever took her mother after she gave birth. She’s all I have of my Deyan.”

She let herself give him a small sad smile back, “The stranger comes for all. If she gets worse, cool her with rags. If the rags do not help, send for me, I will come."

The man’s hand shot out before she could react and grasped her hand in his squeezing, “Thank you.”

She nodded and made her way to the door, the sun outside lowering in the sky. If she moved quickly she could make it home before the sun had set. As she stepped outside, the man called out to her again.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Barely having left his daughter side, “It’s dangerous to be a woman in the dark." His voice held little concern, and more of a warning, "There’s raiders now, more than before the war. People are desperate.”

Without replying, she simply nodded and went on her way.

Of course it was dangerous to be a woman walking alone at night, but then again, it was dangerous to be a woman anywhere. Nowhere was safe, especially after the war. Desperation clung to men like filth, more pungent than sweat or unwashed clothes. But she trusted in her own caution, in the knowledge of when to step into the shadows and when to keep moving. She knew the land better than she knew herself.

And she was right. Her home was dark once she finally arrived, the trees surrounding blocking out what little light there already was.

And he was still there. Not that he could have gone anywhere.

She thought momentarily that he was dead--he was so still, so pale that it was hard not to mistaken him for a corpse. But once she stood beside him, she touched his neck and felt warmth and the slow and steady thump of his heart.

The longer she looked at the young prince however, the more she realised she would likely need her table back, and surely having him elevated was not safe. If he woke and thrashed, he would fall to the hard floor. She would need to move him, and to her bed. But if she did this, she herself would have nowhere to sleep.

Regret pricked at her for not taking the fisherman’s coin. Cloth for a makeshift cot would have been useful. A blanket, too.

Hands on her hips, she surveyed her home. The furs on her bed were plentiful and would be enough to soften the floor. If she laid by the fire, it would keep her warm too.

It would have to do.

She dragged the furs from her bed and onto the floor beside the fire for warmth. She knew that she would need to change his bandages soon, and so she went to him.

With a deep breath, she braced herself. Hands beneath his arms, she pulled him upright. His face went bone-white, his lone eye rolling beneath its lid, lips parting in a strained whimper.

She twisted so that his chest leaned against her back. It was risky with his ribs, but she had no choice. He was dead weight. She hooked one arm under his broken leg, then hoisted him from the table.

The effort nearly sent her toppling.

His body tensed against her back, muscles locking as another sound of pain escaped his lips. She staggered, knees nearly buckling beneath his weight. And though he was lean, he might as well have been made of iron.

Quick unsteady steps and more groans which grew with intensity behind her she made it to the bed dropping him as gently as she could on the surface. He lay awkwardly, the broken leg on the bed, the other hanging off the edge, his skin had taken a green tint and she worried he may be sick.

She hurried to fix his position, heart hammering when she noticed the fresh bloom of red on his bandaged side. Not enough to be dangerous but enough to tell her the jostling had torn at the wound.

Even in the low light of the fire, he looked worse, but she knew it was for the best. Her fingers felt his ribs, and all seemed to still be in the places where they should be. An ear to his chest confirmed a lack of punctured lung. Small mercies, she supposed.

His face was taut with pain, the most expression she had seen in the days passed. His brows were furrowed and his eye seemed to roll vigorously inside its socket.

With a cloth she had used before, she wet it and came to his side, soothing the skin of his forehead in an attempt to settle him again. But as soon as the cloth touched him, his eye shot open. She was met with dazzling violet, which despite his weakness burned with what little strength the man had left. His pupil struggled to focus on her face, growing and shrinking, the violet disappearing and reappearing.

She gave him what she thought was a unthreatening smile, and continued on the path of wetting his forehead with the cloth in soft gentle strokes of reassurance.

She prayed momentarily that he didn't attack her. Men on their death beds have surprising strength when cornered. The bodies last burst and attempt of survival.

Aemond blinked sluggishly up at her, and she was surprised that he had even stayed conscious this long despite the pain the marred his face. The white of his lashes dusted his cheeks, and she saw that the muscles surrounding the missing eye tried also to blink what was left of the other lid.

“Sleep.” She cooed at him, brushing against the side of his face where sweat had begun to settle.

His lips parted, cracked and dry,

“Mother.”

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Overemphasis on Assimilation into Western Culture: A Garveyite Perspective

Introduction: The Psychological Chains of Western Assimilation

The obsession with assimilating into Western culture has been one of the most damaging consequences of colonialism, slavery, and white supremacy for the Black world. Instead of embracing African cultural, economic, and spiritual traditions, many Black people have been conditioned to see Westernization as the only path to progress, respectability, and success.

From a Garveyite perspective, this overemphasis on assimilation is not just a personal choice—it is the result of a deliberate strategy to disconnect Black people from their roots, weaken Pan-African unity, and ensure permanent psychological and economic dependency on Western nations.

If Black people do not reject the myth that Westernization equals progress, they will continue to be mentally, economically, and politically enslaved—even without physical chains.

1. The Historical Roots of Forced Western Assimilation

A. The Role of Slavery in Enforcing Western Cultural Norms

During the Transatlantic Slave Trade, enslaved Africans were:

They are stripped of their names and given European names to erase their African identity.

Forced to abandon their languages, replacing them with European tongues.

Converted to Christianity, while their traditional African spiritual systems were demonized.

Taught to imitate European customs, with severe punishments for embracing African traditions.

Example: Enslaved Africans in the Americas were banned from drumming, speaking their languages, or practising African rituals, because European enslavers knew that cultural continuity would fuel rebellion and resistance.

Key Takeaway: The foundation of Western assimilation was built on control—Black people were forced to abandon their culture to make them easier to dominate.

B. The Colonial Education System and the Destruction of African Identity

European colonizers established Western-style schools in Africa and the Caribbean, where Black children were taught that:

African history began with European “discovery” and colonization.

European languages, customs, and political systems were superior.

Success meant adopting Western dress, behaviour, and beliefs.

African intellectuals who challenged colonial education were often marginalized, imprisoned, or assassinated.

Example: Many African nations still prioritize English, French, or Portuguese over indigenous languages, proving that colonial education still dictates cultural norms.

Key Takeaway: The education system was used as a tool of cultural genocide—teaching Black children to reject their own identity in favour of European validation.

2. The Modern Consequences of Overassimilating into Western Culture

A. The Worship of European Beauty Standards

One of the most destructive effects of Western assimilation is the widespread rejection of African beauty.

Many Black people internalize European beauty ideals, leading to:

Skin bleaching – A multi-billion dollar industry fueled by self-hatred.

Hair straightening & rejection of natural hair – Many Black women and men feel pressured to conform to Eurocentric hair standards.

Preference for European facial features – Thin noses, lighter skin, and “mixed-race” aesthetics are glorified over African features.

Example: In many African and Caribbean countries, lighter-skinned individuals are given better job opportunities, proving that colonial beauty standards still control access to success.

Key Takeaway: When Black people reject their own beauty, they subconsciously accept the idea that whiteness is superior.

B. The Dependence on Western Economic Systems

Black nations and individuals are conditioned to believe that true success comes from Western capitalist and neoliberal models, leading to:

Overreliance on European and American corporations rather than developing African-owned businesses.

Brain drain – African and Caribbean nations losing their most talented people to Europe and America.

Import dependency – Many African nations produce raw materials but import finished goods from the West, keeping them economically dependent.

Example: Africa produces over 70% of the world’s cocoa, yet European companies like Nestlé and Hershey make billions selling chocolate, while African economies remain poor.

Key Takeaway: True economic freedom will never come from Western systems—it will come from African self-sufficiency.

C. The Political Submission to Western Powers

Many Black nations seek validation from Western governments, rather than asserting their own sovereignty, leading to:

Neocolonialism – African and Caribbean leaders depend on Western aid and approval instead of leading independently.

Mimicking Western political structures – African nations copy European governance models instead of developing African-centered political systems.

Disrespect for African traditional governance – Indigenous leadership systems that worked for centuries are dismissed as “backwards” in favour of European democracy.

Example: Many African nations still use European constitutions and laws, long after gaining independence.

Key Takeaway: African nations must rule according to their own traditions and values—not copy Western systems that were designed to exploit them.

3. The Psychological Effects of Overassimilating into Western Culture

A. The Mental Slavery of Seeking White Validation

Many Black individuals and leaders feel the need to:

Prove their intelligence to white society – Constantly seeking white approval rather than building Black institutions.

Distance themselves from African identity – Some Black people feel ashamed to be associated with Africa.

Look down on “too Black” behaviours – Some Black people see African culture, accents, and names as “ghetto” or “uncivilized.”

Example: Many Black professionals feel the need to code-switch or “act white” to be accepted in corporate spaces.

Key Takeaway: True freedom means living for your people, not adjusting yourself to fit white society’s expectations.

B. The Weakening of Black Unity and Pan-Africanism

Western assimilation divides the Black community by creating:

Class divisions – Educated and Westernized Black people often see themselves as superior to “uneducated” or “rural” Africans.

Religious divisions – Many Black Christians and Muslims reject African spiritual practices as “pagan” or “devilish.”

Nationality over race – Many Black people identify more with their colonizer’s nationality than with the global Black community.

Example: Some Black immigrants look down on Black Americans, and some Black Americans reject African immigrants, rather than seeing their shared struggle.

Key Takeaway: When Black people are divided, they are easier to control—this is why unity must be prioritized over Western acceptance.

4. The Garveyite Solution: Rejecting Western Assimilation and Reclaiming Black Identity

A. Embracing African Cultural and Spiritual Traditions

Black people must reclaim African names, languages, and traditions to restore their identity.

African spiritual systems must be respected and revived, rather than being dismissed as “evil.”

Black artists, writers, and filmmakers must elevate African culture over Eurocentric perspectives.

Example: Instead of celebrating European holidays like Christmas, Black people should embrace African traditions like Kwanzaa, Odwira, or Ifá festivals.

Key Takeaway: A people without their own culture are forever mentally enslaved.

B. Building Black Economic and Political Power

Black nations must prioritize intra-African trade over dependence on the West.

Black communities must fund Black businesses, banks, and institutions instead of relying on white-owned corporations.

Black leaders must reject foreign aid and IMF loans, developing self-sustaining African economic models.

Example: African nations should focus on Pan-African trade alliances, rather than competing for Western approval.

Key Takeaway: Only an economically independent Black world can resist white domination.

Conclusion: Will We Continue Assimilating, or Will We Build Our Own Future?

Marcus Garvey said:

"Be Black, buy Black, think Black, and all else will take care of itself."

Will Black people continue seeking Western validation, or reclaim their African identity?

Will we assimilate into systems designed to oppress us, or create our own institutions?

The Choice is Ours. The Time is Now.

#black history #black people #blacktumblr #black tumblr #pan africanism #black conscious #africa #black #black power #black empowering #Garveyism RejectAssimilation PanAfricanism ReclaimBlackIdentity BlackExcellence #blog #Marcus Garvey #garveyism #Garveyite

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detectivestucks · 3 months ago

Text

Mind Games

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Anbu Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Kakashi has a new jutsu that allows him to read minds. Your thoughts get caught in the cross fire during an interrogation and now he's hooked, listening in every chance he gets till he makes you his.

Warnings: NSFW, degradation, nipple play, unprotected penetration, money shot.

Word Count: 4.4k

Anon Ask

“Captain! Captain, they've caught him!”

Team Ro’s second in command rushes to Kakashi. “Are we clear to bring him back to the village for interrogation?”

“Let me take a crack at him first. We could be missing an important opportunity for the mission if we wait till we’re home to get answers.”

“Of course, Captain”

Kakashi heads over to the tree where you’re guarding the hostage from the Hidden Mist. He nods to you before centering his gaze on the man at your feet.

“I’ll never betray my village.” He spits, “I don’t care what you do to me!”

“No worries” Kakashi says with amusement, “I have no need for your words or your cooperation.”

The shinobi looks at the captain, confused when he starts weaving signs. You join the captive in their bewilderment looking from the hostage to the captain wondering what jutsu he could possibly be using.

You see the final sign he holds and realize it’s very similar to the mind transfer hand sign. Could he possibly have used his sharingan to replicate the famous Yamanaka jutsu? But Kakashi’s consciousness remains in his body, he has not collapsed but rather looks like he’s studying the man before him.

Kakashi’s face drops. Deep concern etches his features. He looks so handsome like this. A leader who takes his job seriously. There’s nothing more handsome than a talented man who shows humility all while commanding with grace.

Then on top it off, there’s the fact that he’s actually handsome. Silver fluffy hair swooped to the side, a jaw line that could cut glass, and dexterous hands that wield ninja tools in a mesmerizing way. A smidgen of drool collects in the corner of your mouth before you blink back to focus.

You swear you see a hint of a smile beneath Kakashi’s mask before he turns to his trusted second in command. He whispers something that causes the shinobi’s face to scowl.

“Right away sir.” He echoes, then in the blink of an eye he’s gone.

Once the man has disappeared, Kakashi turns back to regard you. Mismatched eyes scan you up and down and you feel your blood run hot. A flush covers your face before he turns away and goes to address the rest of his Anbu.

“Good work.” Kakashi praises. “Let's head out. Time to go home.”

Wait, we’re leaving that guy behind? You don’t say it but your face must have spoken just as loud as words would have because Kakashi turns around and says, “Yes, we’re leaving our comrade behind. He’ll head home when he’s done.”

Your face turns a shade of scarlet when he addresses you. Shinobi are supposed to be stealthy, yet here you are, easy to read, your face like a book. How humiliating.

Kakashi lightly chuckles before turning towards the rest of the group. “Let’s go!”

After turning the Mist shinobi over to the intelligence team you head over to the Anbu locker room to change. Upon your entry, you step in halfway through Kakashi’s transition into civilian clothes. His pants hang loosely around his hips, the top button still undone, as he pulls his compression shirt off over his head.

Holy fuck he’s hot. Ugh, get it together girl, you’re coworkers. You seriously need to chill.

You see his abs flex like he’s trying to restrain a laugh and you can’t understand what’s got him so amused today but you don’t like it. Serious men look strange when they laugh, though sometimes they look beautiful… Seriously, stop.

You head over to your locker trying hard to ignore how Kakashi trades one compression shirt for another, showing off his defined muscular frame beneath the elastic fabric, and you hate yourself for being unable to resist sneaking a glance.

From across the room, Kakashi pulls his head through the neck hole of his shirt. You look so cute when you’re flustered. Usually you’re calm and collected but ever since your team started joining his on joint missions, you’ve had a hard time acting professional around him. He figured why, but today when his mind-reading jutsu got a taste of what is going on in that cute little noggin on your shoulders, he can’t contain his glee. You’re so adorable with your internal struggle to stay professional and he loves that the residual effects of the jutsu allowed him to catch this last bit here in the locker room while he is in a state of undress.

Now that he has an idea of what you’re thinking, he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to stop himself from taking a peak a few more times.

Once out on the town, you look to see if any of your jonin friends are around and find a bunch of your classmates have joined Kurenai, Asuma, and Guy at a local BBQ. You sit down at the table with them and place your meat on the grill.

Only a few minutes later, the talented and alluring star captain of the Anbu wanders in.

“Kakashi! Over here my rival!”

“Guuyyy!” you quietly whine, “Do you have to call him over?” Your plea is hushed but Guy’s response isn’t as subtle.

“Of course! Rivals always sit together.”

Your forehead drops to the table and Kakashi descreatley forms the hand signs to perform his new favorite jutstu, excited to see what’s going on once more in that pretty head of yours.

This is so embarrassing. Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods. Can a wagon run over me now or do I have to wait till later?

The restraint it takes to not crack a smile is difficult to muster. “Oh hi there, Guy. I’d love to join you.”

Kill me

Asuma makes room for the Anbu and he sits down right in front of you.

Sifting through the meat before him, he lays his cuts down on the gridle next to yours and flips over your steaks in the process. You stare at him trying to understand his kindness, for no reason whatsoever; he’s just kind. It’s in his nature.

How can a man like him work in the Anbu? We are the necessary evil of the villiage. How can he manage both the dark and the light?

Kakashi enjoys hearing your thoughts. If not for the boost to his ego, at least for his amusement. He wonders if other members of his team feel the same way. But he’s not interested in hearing their thoughts, just yours. He’s had his eye on your for awhile and he knows you had a tiny crush on him since your first day in the Anbu. Now he believes his own feelings will fester from your adorable internal dialogue.

In the following weeks Kakashi used his mind reading jutsu every time he sees you. Your thoughts sink from admiration and controlled urges to downright lewd images of what you want him to do to you. His favorite spot to spy on your secret musings is in the locker room.

He’s been spending extra time changing recently, drawing out the process to give you inspiration as your mind spirals with want. The desire to lick, bite, and kiss every ridge of muscle, the need to pull down his mask and explore his mouth, the painful itch to yank down his unbuttoned pants, it consumes you. Every little detail about him torments your mind.

You find your chest fluttering when he’s around. Your breathing becomes shallow if he’s close and chills erupt on your arms anytime you walk past. These reactions prove it’s not just your mind that’s swamped with dirty thoughts; your body is sensitive to him too. To further your descent into madness, he makes a point to brush up against you, letting his fingers drag from your hip across your rear when he passes from behind. Any encounter in the hallway usually involves him lightly grazing your arm, and every exchange of words invites his hand on your shoulder.

Each small touch steals your breath. The mental freeze and broken gasps are addicting to Kakashi and he can’t get enough of what his presence does to you. He wants to spend more time with you alone. He wants to see how far he can push things.

“Hey!” Kakashi trots up to you, calling your name.

Your eyes widen with fluster. “Hey.” You barely choke out the word, you're so surprised that Kakashi is even approaching you.

“After the last joint mission I asked your captain to allow me some time to develop your combat skills.”

“My combat skills? Did I do a bad job?”

Kakashi smirks, you may have asked a simple question, but behind it your thoughts spin out of control.

Oh my gods, did I embarrass myself in front of him? How could I not have noticed it? That’s why I catch him staring at me. He thinks I’m an idiot. All this time I was hoping he had a crush on me but actually, I was just a fool in his eyes. Oh gods, oh gods, geezus, fuck.

Kakashi almost burst out laughing but contains himself. “You didn’t do a bad job, but your jutsu are for mid range fighting. We’ve been spending a lot of time up close with enemies and I want to make sure you have sufficient taijutsu skills so you can protect yourself.

Okay, so I didn’t embarrass myself. Well that’s a relief. Oh, crap. Thank the man. Come on now, he’s giving you private lessons. The best shinobi in the village is offering to develop your skills, take the opportunity and thank him. Seriously, he’s wanting to help you. Why are you still not thanking him? Thank him!

“I-um-I…thank you, Kakashi. When do you want to meet?”

Woooow, you sounded so dumb just then. Why does his stupid gorgeous face do this to you?

“I’d like to meet you this evening.”

“Why this evening?!”

“Because I want you to learn to fight in the dark, in case you’re ambushed on a mission.”

“I guess that’s fair? I’ll see you then.”

“It’s a date.”

He finishes this statement with a smirk, knowing how the term will make your head reel.

I swear if this dream boat says it’s a date a second time I’m not going to be able to stop myself. I’ll push him against a tree and pull out his dick and suck like my life depends on it. Why does he have to be so hot?

Kakashi walks away, regretting leaving the proximity where he can hear your thoughts because it is definitely his new favorite pastime.

Evening came and you head to the training grounds. Even though it was going to be dark, you were extra careful with your hair style, choosing an elegant loose bun with lots of curls poking out and face framing pieces in the front. You were also careful to make your skin extra glowy so you’d look cute up close. You sigh to yourself.

Why do I care so much? It’s not like it’s a real date, it’s just training for work.

You feel like a pathetic school girl, crushing on the star shinobi like you’re back at the academy. You’re literally a top ranking ninja in the village but you feel like a genin around this man.

Kakashi can see you approaching and activates his jutsu.

As you see his silhouette in the dark your heart starts to pound. How does even his outline look so gorgeous? Gods help me.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course captain. Thank you for offering to train me.”

Without warning, Kakashi whips out a kunai and makes to slash across your face. On instinct, you block with your forearm, preventing the blade from tarnishing your unblemished skin.

“Very good.”

Did he really think I wouldn’t block that?

Then a swipe at your feet causes you to fall backwards but you use the leverage from your forearm to help you complete a handspring, saving your balance and landing on your feet.

That was close.

“Color me impressed.”

“Tell me, how do you think I made it into the Anbu? Did you really think I couldn’t fight? Or did you think I got in cause of my looks?”

“Seeing is believing, sweetie. I see your pretty looks, I haven’t seen you in a serious fight.”

You scoff but inside your head is spinning. You’re pretty to him. That’s a dangerous thing to know.

How am I going to resist him if I know he finds me attractive too? Maybe he was staring back cause he’s interested. Please let it be cause he thinks I’m hot and not cause he thinks I’m an idiot.

Your head is spinning and just as you’re caught up in your thoughts a leg comes up to your head in a roundhouse kick. You dodge and go to kick back when he grabs your leg, twisting so that you’d fall to the ground but you jump off your standing leg and strike his face with your heel only for him to disappear and be replaced by a log.

Almost had him.

“No, you didn’t almost have me, sweetie.”

Wait. Did I say that out loud.

“Where’d you run off to? I thought we were supposed to be practicing close combat?”

A deep chuckle comes from behind one of the logs meant for shuriken practice and you send a shadow clone over to investigate. You watch yourself spar with the silver ninja when you feel someone’s presence behind you.

You whip a kunai out of your pocket and slice as you spin around only to be blocked by Kakashi’s own kunai. From behind the logs, you hear the poof of both shadow clones disappear while you and Kakashi continue to fight. He’s impressive and strong. It’s hard to keep your defenses up when all you want to do is melt into the person you're fending off. You want to be backed into a corner and pinned up against a tree, helpless to escape. You don’t want to fight; you want to lose.

Your heart hammers, caught between the pounding from exertion and fluttering from his close proximity. You feel light-headed till you realize you are exactly where you wanted to be, pinned against the closest tree.

“Is this what you want? Hmm?”

“What’d you mean?” your racing mind tries to understand the question. How could he tell what you’re thinking?

Kakashi’s hands slide to your wrists and bring them together above your head, pressing them into the bark so you can’t escape. Then he takes his knee and slots it between your legs, pressing his thigh up against your center.

“You want this, don’t you?”

Your eyes bug in disbelief. “No” you whisper but it’s an obvious lie meant to save face.

Kakashi pushes his hardened length against your hip. You suck in air between your teeth, unable to understand how you got in this predicament. He’s hard…for you.

“Say you don’t want me again. I promise to let you go if you do.”

Fuck that was hot.

“And if you’re good, I’ll reward you.”

“I don’t-” He squeezes your wrists tighter while rocking his hips against yours, rubbing his length against your upper leg.

Butterflies zip throughout your body, excited to know he wants you the same way you want him. One hand presses against your wrist while the other wraps around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Ride my knee, pretty baby, show me how much you want me.”

Your eyes lock with his, your chin low, but your eyes never drop from his gaze. You angle you hips up so that you feel your folds drag along his thigh and angle them back down again. Repeating the process over and over, each stroke builds your desire as the friction tugs at your clit. The feeling is incredible but a ball of nerves bounces around your stomach, still in disbelief that it’s Kakashi you’re doing this with.

You feel yourself wound up tight, need crawling along your skin. You don’t want to be pinned on the tree anymore, you want to touch him, kiss him, pull down that damned mask and see the face that no one else knows.

As if reading your thoughts, Kakashi removes the hand that was wrapped around the small of your back and lowers the black fabric. His face is just as perfect as the rest of him. He’s gorgeous, truly a perfect creation. You whine and reach for him, unable to touch his lips with yours. A dazzling leering smirk makes you gush into your underwear. Fuck me, even his smile is perfect.

He leans in, brushing his nose against your cheek as he whispers in your ear, “If you cum for me now, I’ll cum for you later.”

You swear your heart skips a beat. The pressure of your labia against his leg increases, causing your heart to pound with each tightening turn of the coil in your belly. Your chin drops and you pant, searching for air but what you really need is him.

“Please…” you whisper, breathy and quiet, “I need…” you turn your head towards his and he gives in, capturing your lips with his own. You struggle in his grip, wanting to wrap your arms around him but he grapples you tighter, not allowing you to budge.

Your chest arches into his, pushing your supple mounds into his rock hard pecs. You’ve never felt so desperate in your life. It’s truly embarrassing how much you want him. Every part of him. You’d do anything to have him inside of you at this moment.

“If you want me inside of you, tell me who’s slut you are.” You look at him shocked.

I swear he’s reading my mind right now.

“Maybe I am. Now tell me who’s slut you are.”

“Yours.”

“Yours, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m your slut, sir.”

“Good. Now, shirt off. I want you to walk home with your tits out. If a stranger comments on them, ask if they want to feel. Only once we’re at your house will I fuck you.”

Your cheeks flush a light cherry color. You don’t want to do that at all. You’re home is across town. So many people will see you.

“If you say no, I won’t let you cum now and I won’t cum for you later. You said you are my slut, prove it.”

He lets go of your wrists and you hesitate, trying to decide if you’re really going to demean yourself in front of the village or not. He has you whipped into a haze, feeling desperate for him and easily influenced, but this is a level that you weren’t expecting.

Slowly your hands creep down to the hem of your shirt, pulling up the edge of the fabric over your head. Before you can fully finish taking it off, Kakashi drops you to the ground, your head and arms still tangled in your shirt.

“Naughty girl, you really would do anything to have me inside you.” Kakashi punctuates his sentence with a slap to your exposed breasts. “You seem to be forgetting though, you’re my slut. So I’m not going to share you with strangers. If they see us fucking, that’s fine, but they’re not going to touch my property. I own you now, sweetie, and I’m not going to let you go. You understand?”

You nod your head, stupidly realizing he probably can’t see it cause of the way your shirt’s wrapped but he doesn’t care; he’s yanking off your bottoms and has them caught at your ankles. He pushes your legs up, holding them behind your knees so you’re in a ball on the wet grass.

Kakashi’s finger traces the center seam of your folds, dipping in at the base of your heat and pulling away. You can feel a trail of slick stretch between you and his finger pad, connecting the two of you as his lifts his pointer finger to his lips. The string breaks just as his tongue drags over his print for a taste.

“What a wet little whore. I know you’ve been wanting me.” he dips his finger back into your center then licks the digit again with a wet pop. “I can hear your thoughts.”

You go rigid. Every embarrassing thought, every lewd internal dialogue, he heard it all. Fuck me…

“My sweet, sweet slut, I’m here to give you everything that nasty heart of yours desires. I’ll make sure to fuck you nice and rough.”

You feel a warm appendage rub along your labia, followed by an insertion. You hiss, nipples stiffening, back arching, and a low moan of satisfaction gets lost in the night air.

“You feel so much better than I imagined. Fuck. So warm and wet, and so tight.” Kakashi begins stroking, his length sinking in right up to your cervix, kissing it with each intrusion. You squirm below him, the feeling of his tip dragging along your walls has you needy and all you want is for him to go faster…and harder.

“Does pretty baby want it harder? Yeah I know you want it harder, I can hear you thinking about it.”

You yelp, embarrassed that he’s still reading your thoughts. Kakashi begins to pound into you, jolting you against the earth, your back is getting stained by the grass as you slide on the ground. Kakashi rests on his knees, keeping your feet over his shoulder. He hugs your legs, thrusting into you, watching how your tits sway with the momentum he provides.

He leans forward, bending you and deepening his angle. You can’t see him with the shirt covering your face but you can imagine the hunger in his eyes. He gets a certain look when he’s sparring and you know he’s wearing that same look right now.

You flutter around him, straining to close around the rod he has shoved inside of you.

His eyes bore into your chest, mesmerized by it. He licks his lips then leans all the way down, cupping one breast in his hand, the other still supporting his weight. He wraps his lips around your peak and begins to suck on it, allowing his teeth to close on the flesh.

You cry out, the sensitivity of the area makes it painful but it hurts so good. Kakashi continues to pull the bud into his mouth till he tastes a tangy discharge. Coupling the strokes of your core with the suckling of your breast, you feel yourself release all over his shaft. You spasm beneath him, while he rides you through the orgasm.

He continues to milk you as much as he can but the gratification of being between your legs becomes all-consuming so he lets go and rolls you to your stomach. He straddles you in the prone position and swats at your behind as he watches how it jiggles with the impact of his hips.

The wolfish spirit that always simmers below the surface starts to emerge. He slips one hand under your hips, lifting them to angle you better while the other hand, that’s supporting his body weight, pushes your shirt-covered face into the dirt.

It’s all you can do to grit your teeth and take what he gives you, the pain mixing with the pleasure. The humiliation contrasted with the thrill. Your moans and cries come out in a blend of strange sounds that can only be described as animalistic. You hear the sounds of footsteps approaching, followed by gasps and the sounds of more than one person retreating. The embarrassment of being seen like this makes the squelching sounds louder.

“Little whore like when people see her humiliated, hmm? You got so wet for me when you had an audience. Should I ask them to come back?”

You can’t answer him cause his pace becomes so harsh, you don’t have air to form words.

Feeling ready to release, Kakashi pulls your hips up all the way, dragging your head and arms along the ground. You’re lifted into a doggy position where Kakashi unleashes every last ounce of strength on your dirty, tangled form.

Loud slapping sounds pound through the night from how your wet core collides with Kakashi’s soaked pelvis. Your fluids have made a mess of the both of you. A creamy white ring develops around his base and Kakashi is so glad he can see its thickness in the moonlight.

The intensity of his pace has you screaming out ‘thank you’s’ between a slew of curse words and appeals to the gods.

Now when he tries to tap into your thoughts, he finds that you’re flipping from a jumbled mess of desires to an empty void. He’s successfully fucked you stupid and all you can do is happily scream.

His pace increases till you fall silent and your only sounds are labored breaths as your body quakes, your wall flutter, clamping down till he almost releases inside of you. But determined to see you decorated, Kakashi manages to pull out just in time to flip you over and spill his spend over your grimy chest.

Once you’re glistening with cum, he pulls your shirt the rest of the way off to reveal your red, dazed face.

Gazing at you, he slots himself back inside your hole while his hands smear his seed around your breasts. After creating a muddy mixture, he then decorates your cheeks and nose, telling you that you’ll have to wear it home.

“I’ll what?!”

“You’re going to walk home wearing me. You said you are my slut, time to act like it.”

You look away, embarrassed but a harsh pinch to both peaks brings your eyes back to his. Kakashi twists your nipples, emphasizing his words, “Am I being clear?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll wear your cum while I walk home.”

“Good girl. Also, I expect you to come to work tomorrow without underwear on. I’m going to fill you up in the locker room before your mission and I want my cum leaking down your thighs all day. Understood?”

You nod, realizing you’ve just unlocked an animal, but you can’t make yourself regret it. Not when it’s the best sex of your life with the most amazing man you’ve ever met. Now, he wants to do it again. You pulse around his semi still lodged between your legs.

“Yes, sir. I understand.” you chant obediently.

“Gooood, now get up. You have a long walk home.”

Masterlist

#kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake #kakashi senpai #kakashi is daddy #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi anbu #kakashi sensei #hatake kakashi #romantic kakashi #anbu kakashi #kakashi x anbu reader #anon ask #anonymous #toxic kakashi

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skippingstonez · 5 months ago

Note

could I possibly ask for anything with four? honestly anything you'd like, I just want some nice fluff with my favorite link <3

I'll admit, this is the first time I've ever written Four! I've only played Minish Cap so I tried to focus more on that but he was a lot of fun!

A Little bit of Luck

(Four x Reader) Warnings: None <3

“Hey Smithy!” Four looked up from where he was polishing his shield. You jogged up to him, sitting down so closely that your shoulder pressed against his. Your cheerful voice pulled him in like a spell. Enticing him to lean against you. Casually of course.

“Got a question for ya!”

“Yes, no and no.”

“I haven't even asked yet!” You whined. Four just chuckled, nudging you with his elbow as he kept working.

“Yes I've made armor before. No I don't have the tools for it, so NO I'm not making Wind a suit of armor. No matter how ‘cool’ it would look.”

You held up your index finger. “First of all, I will never understand how you do that.”

Four rolled his eyes lightheartedly, having yet again predicted exactly what you were gonna ask him. He didn't quite understand it either. You had only known each other for a little while but it might as well have been a lifetime. The way he could just look at you and know exactly what you might be thinking. Predicting your moves effortlessly as though he had studied them for years. In return, it was as if you could read him like a book. Always one step ahead of him. Ready with whatever it was he needed when working or watching his back in battle.

“Secondly,” you added another finger. “It would be extremely cool.”

“It'd be a pain is what it would be” he corrected. “I'd like to just stick to weapons, thank you very much.”

“Fiiiiiiiine. Now can I actually ask the question I came over here for or not?”

Four put down the shield, giving you his full attention. “I'm not making you one either”

“Seriously?” You hit his arm playfully. He laughed at the downright adorable way your face pouted.

“Okay, okay I'm sorry” he raised his hands in defense, still chuckling. “What's your question?”

You stuck your tongue out at him before pointing to his belt. “I noticed these things on your belt. What are they?”

“My kinstones?” He held up the small chain hanging on his hip. The small, broken halves of incomplete kinstones dangled from the thin chain, clinking together. He placed it into your outstretched palm, letting you take a closer look.

“Kinstones…” you repeated curiously. “They look broken. Did something happen?” Picking at them carefully.

“They all start off like that” he pulled out the small bag he stored the rest of his collection in. “Everyone in my era has some and are always trading them around.” He explained, picking out a few more from his bag.

“See, every piece has a matching half” he explained, placing a blue one into your hand. “If you can find the other half you can combine them together. We call it fusing.” You hung onto every word he said. His heart fluttering at the way you pressed against him to get a closer look. Holding the small pieces between your fingers up to the light.

“Do they do anything?”

“Rumor is,” Whispering in your ear like a child telling a secret. “If you can find a match, something good will happen to you.” Your eyes lit up.

“Really? Like what?

Four shrugged. “Hard to say for sure. I think it depends on the holder. Someone from my village told stories of finding hidden treasures after fusing some together.”

“Wow…” you said breathlessly, admiring all the small pieces in your hand. Part of him wished you would look at him that way. A part of him that the others quickly called a sap and tried to get to shut up before he did anything dumb.

“You have so many! You must get pretty lucky with all of those.”

He looked at you gently. The red in his eyes scanning the soft features of your face. If only you realized just how lucky he really was.

“(Y/N)!” Warriors called out. “Collector wants a word with you. Something about missing one of his rings.”

“Like he needs help looking for it or is he accusing me of taking it?” You asked but Wars just shrugged.

“Let's hope for your sake it's the former.”

You groaned, taking a last look at the tiny stones on your palm. You grabbed one of his hands, carefully handing them back with a smile. “Wish I had my own right now. Knowing how prickly he is about his stuff the Vets probably losing his mind.”

Four chuckled, keeping his hand perfectly still in yours until you pulled away. You stood up, dusting off your trousers. Your fingers brushed his shoulder, guiding his attention up to you. “Tell me if you find a match, okay? I'd love to see it.” He nodded, watching as you walked off. Your fingers lingering on his shoulder for as long as possible.

Four trembled ever so slightly.

“You okay there Four? You aren't cold are you?” Wars asked. A shit eating grin on his face.

Four glared at him. Stuffing the stones back into their pouch, and hooking the chain onto his belt.

____

You regrettably woke up. Your body felt sore from the tumble you took downhill yesterday when stepping through the sudden portal. You were already planning out your revenge on the cook, who had been the reason for your little mishap, as you sat up.

The usual sounds of the others getting ready filled the space of camp. Most of the others are already up except for Sky and Wind. The smell of breakfast hit your nose, making your rather empty stomach grumble in response. Your body stung in protest when you attempted to get up. The bruises you no doubt now had begging for you to simply lay back down.

You ran a hand through your hair. Flinching at the multiple knots your fingers caught on. The thought of brushing it out made you groan. Maybe you could convince Wars to do it for you. He still owed you from taking his shift the other night.

“Good morning,” Four appeared in front of you. His hair lacked its usual headband along with the multicolored tunic which meant he had likely just woken up as well. He held out a small plate of food which you gratefully took. “Thought you might want some breakfast.”

“You truly are the best, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told as such before” he teased, taking a seat on your bedroll. “Sleep alright?”

You nodded, taking a few bites of food. “Mhmm. Bit sore but nothing serious.”

“That's good. We're a bit of a ways from Castle Town so not gonna lie, probably gonna be a long day.”

That’s right, this was his era. The portal you all had walked through yesterday had led to a place Four referred to as the Wind Ruins. Which, based on the amount of crumbled stone pillars felt rather fitting.

You both chatted as you finished the food. Putting down the plate to lean back on your hands. You flinched as something dug into your thumb. Pulling it up, you noticed a small red stone had lodged itself into your skin. You recognized it as the little stones Four had shown you a while ago.

“Look!” You shuffled closer. Excitedly showing off your newest find by shoving your hand in his face. “I found one of those stone things you told me about!” Four lowered your hand. Examining it thoughtfully before plucking the stone from your skin. He rolled it over a few times before passing it to you.

“Yup, that's a kinstone. They're everywhere if you know where to look.”

“Maybe you have the other half! Can we check!?”

Who was he to deny such a simple request? The way your eyes had lit up at the possibility, had him rushing back towards his gear. Snatching up the bag to bring back over to you. You practically flung yourself on his back. Resting your chin on his shoulder as you watched him sort and try different pieces. He pulled out another one, touching it to the one you had given him. They melded together with a small chime.

“It worked!” You cheered, hugging Four in your excitement. Four chuckled, reciprocating by patting your forearm that had his biceps trapped to his sides.

“Guess we should expect some good luck coming our way.” He winked, holding it up for you to take once more.

Your smile brightened even further as you planted your lips against his cheek.

“I'm gonna go show Hyrule!” You jumped up, shouting out to the Traveler who was talking with Legend across camp.

That, he hadn’t been expecting.

Four sat there on your bedroll. His eyes swirling in a rainbow of colors as he processed what had just happened. Was he still dreaming? Surely that hadn’t just happened right? The logical part of him assured him that it did in fact happen. Making his mind even more chaotic than it had been a moment ago.

He shook his head, failing to collect himself.

“Smithy! We're leaving in a little bit, you ready?”

“Uhh yeah…yeah just a sec.” He shot up, putting away the bag of kinstones with a sly grin.

“Lucky indeed” He mumbled.

#linked universe #link x reader #lu four x reader #kinstones #Definitely gonna be learning more about the different colors for next time #lu four #giggle requests

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